Let it all burn
by Necrolily
Summary: A little one shot of an AU. The final thoughts of a Decepticon who had fallen in with Autobots and looking on his actions when he betrays them.


This was from a prompt by a friend when I was in need of a writing focus.  
>Mentioned character either belong to Hasbro, myself or Ever-After<br>Transformers belongs solely to Hasbro though.

Summary: A Decepticon that had long ago worked his way into the Autobot ranks looks back on his actions when his true leader finally demands he acts.  
>An AU<p>

* * *

><p>"You're... you're one of us... You're supposed to be one of us!" The words grew in pitch with each repetition of them. Warping and growing thick with emotion that poured thick as syrup from the spark. It was almost tragically sweet with the amount of fury and pain behind every word that was spit at him.<p>

"I know." A smile, almost sad, spread upon his lips in a painfully realistic sense of care. A show that only made the tears thicker for the femme.

"Bastard... you're supposed to be one of us..."

Her vocals were jarred. Physical blows or damage had not befallen them but the crushing vice of raw emotion had taken a mace to the walls of her throat from her tanks to her mouth and had torn a path of destruction that left only the most base of words, the most simple of key phrases that blared within her processor to remain as the single coherent artifact of her rattled thoughts, spill out.

"I know." That painfully tragic smile lingered on his lips. An action to take such comfort in. An act that had brought him so much trust. A sin now written upon his faceplates.

To her his smile had always looked apologetic.

She had thought he was ashamed of his humor.

Trained in some strange way seekers were she could never quite grasp.

Now she knew though.

All those times he laughed, and all the times he acted so kindly, the times he offered her a shoulder strut to lean on, all the times she had seen him with the mech he'd become so wrapped within.

He was apologizing for using them like pawns.

And even now he wore that sinful mark, that mocking look of apology, as he stood before her. He stood now as he had so many times before, his wings loose and low upon their hinges and posture so relaxed. His optics warm and digits loosely curled.

For all the stretch of the imagination it was the mech she had laughed alongside all this time and not the demon he should be.

And she wished again and again in the moment his optics would darken, his denta would sharpen, his digits somehow become claws. She wanted his form to shift and mutate to fit the image of darkness, to properly align with the version of monsters she had been so trained to spot.

She wished that she could see the monster he was meant to be and not continue to twist the knives that blossomed from her spark like so many macabre flowers as he forced her to witness her friend in such a manner.

A mech who had murdered some of the Autobot's highest officers.

One who had silenced mechs and femmes he had lived alongside after such a time.

One who could stand before her with the wreckage of ARK smoldering at his wings.

That mech should look so much worse.

He should be imposing and dark, should be one who gave off an aura so tangible with malice it should almost be visible, shouldn't have the eyes of the Pit and voice of the unmaker.

He should be demonic.

He shouldn't look the way he did.

He shouldn't look like Solarflare.

"Bastard..."

"Mon chere..." He should not speak softly. "I know. Things had to be done though."

He should not be so gentle.

Stargazer jerked her helm aside and sent herself staggering backwards from the delicate servo that tried to brush away her tears.

Away from the mech that spoke his soothing words into her audios.

Away from the demon that had stolen the face of her friend.

And he let her.

He allowed her to turn and flee on leaden pedes without raising a servo to stop her nor calling in a force to impeed her.

He merely let her run and have her space.

It was a single favor he could allow her in this newly fresh Hell.

Solarflare turned his back to her vanishing form as he beset his gaze upon the mountain that had served as his home for this short time.

Lava seeped like molten blood from a wound torn fresh in the hide of beast, it oozed from any crevice it could in a manner that seemed so lazy to the seeker that watched from the ridge he stood upon. Smoke belched forth from it's cap in tumultuous billows that wafted out across the twilight sky in terrible dance of grey and black that would carry ash for miles while from it's base poured nothing but ebony clouds as the fires ravaged the innards of the nested ship.

The air was crisp with on setting night yet the chill would not touch the Autobots head quaters this setting of the sun. No, this event would burn long into the night and be only the first of many fires to follow.

One of many.

And to have the first started by his servo filled the seeker with a sick sense of pride in that he served as the frontline few who could lay claim to bringing the first heavy blow down within this end game. One of the largest landmarks that was to be noted in history.

Setting the night ablaze with the first torch to the Decepticons rise.

It was a feeling that almost acted as a balm to his spark for the event he had set in motion and the actions he had flowed through to bring them about.

Almost.

His vents cycled the acrid air through his systems and only served to scald them along the way.

The optics of the ones he had silenced seemed reflected in the heats distortion of the air, all hateful and brimming with looks that only covered such a small clip of the spectrum. Looks that cried out agony and disbelief. Looks that had demanded his spark.

Looks that had been reflected in the optics of the femme he'd stood along side all this time.

Looks that had been reflected in the gaze of his lover.

A heavy intake of the scalding air helped to hide the pang of his spark and disguise the feeling of his tattered emotions with that of the physical pain of heat meeting his innards.

_'How could you?'_

_'Why you?'_

_'You're supposed to be one of us!'_

_'You used me...'_

_'What were we to you?'_

_'Was any of it real?'_

If only it hadn't been than his spark would find it easier to repel the shards of glass that pushed further and further into his core with each thought. Even pretending it was a rouse, and that his charade had ment nothing would aid even the slightest against the pain. It had been real.

Every kiss.

Every caress.

Everyone hug.

For all the times he had sat and laughed with troops or held a cybertronian in mourning or offered his comfort to the wounded or dying of a battlefield.

It had all been real.

Not a gesture faked, not a word fabricated, not an act being forced.

But he had his duties.

He had his coding and he was ment to follow that through.

A solar flare is a moment of intense brightening as the sun expells energy. It's a powerful and distructive thing, taking it's time to travel and causing disruption when it hits. Risen and then gone in a moment but not without notice.

He had risen and dispelled his energy in the presence of these mechs and femmes and now they all felt the effect of his presence.

It was almost fitting that the sun should set at the moment.

His name was nothing but mention to the suns destructive temper while even his shortened title paid homeage to the very star itself. And now after his moment of shining and brilliant warmth amoungst the Autobots he had let loose the energy and in the wake of destruction that warmth was departing into darkness.

Just as he would be.

His bright flash of a facade now fading into the night.

Quietly he sighed and turned from what remained of his work, his pedes kicking off the ground with a flare of his thrusters.

His movements were leaden with the ghosts of hate and anguish that clawed at his wings and bid him turn and look at his work once more. To try and take comfort in the sick pride instilled within him through his monster race.

Merely he hung there with his wings to the devistation.

"Je suis desole..."

A final word.

A small statement.

A flick of the glossa and a play on pronounciation.

No matter the translation that came with the saying it rang true.

One final truth.

It was all he could offer.

As he fled away into the darkness to join the others.

Je suis desole...

..I am sorry...

Je suis de soleil...

..I am the sun...


End file.
